


101 Fallout Drabbles

by Aniphine



Series: Sara/Charon Fics (F!LW/Charon) [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Charon - Freeform, DC ruins, Drabbles, Fallout, Gen, dogmeat - Freeform, lone wanderer - Freeform, oneshots, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4309845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aniphine/pseuds/Aniphine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one hundred and one Fallout 3 drabbles featuring Charon, Dogmeat, a Fem-Lone Wanderer, explosions, humor, and general angst that comes with living in a war-torn world. Also guns, because why not. More chapters coming, so stay tuned!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saraisahugenerd](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=saraisahugenerd).



**1\. Bullet**

Dad was a doctor, so of course Sara knew what Stimpaks were. It was just the whole "stab myself in the neck when it's a fucking foot-long needle and my neck totally isn't a foot long" part that creeped her the hell out. Fucking raiders and bullets and all that nonsense; it was days like this where she wished she'd stayed in the Vault. But then there was that whole "killed my best friend's dad thing" and suddenly the whole idea wasn't so appealing.

"Hold still," Charon said, prying open the Med Kit and fishing out one such syringe of doom.

"If this hurts, I'm firing you." Sara insisted; managing to keep her humor just on the edge of her voice as she took in how goddamn sharp the thing was. "Oh, wait, you're a slave, right? Kind of? Uh," She swallowed, eyeing it. Dad always knew how much she hated it; always tried to avoid it whenever he could. "What's the contract slave man-servant thing? Because Argyle didn't do any of this shit. Do I monologue or whip you? I'm open to suggestions."

Maybe it was a mercy doing it fast, or maybe it was revenge that took away his patience, but Charon stabbed her squarely in the neck with the needle. Pain blinded her before she could speak, and after that, soothing heat filled her and she didn't remember what she wanted to say.

**2\. Lesson**

"Angle it up more; you only brace with your shoulder – you don't aim with it." Charon told her and his mangled hands tipped her barrel upwards.

Sara shifted her grip around the Chinese Assault Rifle, actually listening to his instructions. The last few raiders she'd shot had taken thirty rounds of her ammo, and only about ten of those actually made contact with them. Charon had bitched and moaned – as much as he could manage, but that was his way; his particular brand of blank fleshless face had bitchiness written all over it when he was upset – about having to take all the fire sprayed in their direction. That led them to this stretch of land near Megaton, with Charon's hand on her back and his other one managing the barrel of her rifle.

"Don't panic, just hit your mark." He instructed. Sara looked up at him, realizing just how close they were. "Panicking gets you killed, understand?"

"You know, on the "getting killed" scale, I think I'm doing a little better than you."

He gave her a look; the running joke about his appearance and age didn't require a punch line. It was too common for that.

"I'm several hundred years old." He tipped up her sagging barrel, "You're barely out of diapers. Get your barrel up."

Sara smiled and lifted the tip of her Chinese weapon; she was making progress on her marksmanship, and he was making progress on his sense of humor. Worth it.

**3\. Wind**

Sara wound the cog one last time, lips pursed tightly together. It clicked with final sound of victory, and Sara's hands shot up. "Did it, motherfuckers!"

Charon glanced up from the guns he was cleaning to see Sara still at her workbench. Ever since Moira had installed it and Sara had located enough caps (aka Charon kept her alive long enough to locate enough caps) to buy the schematics, she'd been restless at the thing. She lifted the Rock-it-Launcher from her table, wheeling it around.

"I had to wind it pretty tight, but it's looking good, right?"

Charon nodded, looking at how clean the pieces she'd assembled were. He was impressed. But… "Is it loaded?"

"Of course not!" Sara defended with a look. "The instructions never said how to do that. I'm going to have to play with it later and figure out how; gonna be a bitch, because this thing here is in the way-" Sara said, looking down on the large baseball in the chamber. "I don't even know what it's for. …Wait. Shit."

There were many holes in the walls of Sara's Megaton home, but the making of that particular hole almost made one in Charon.

**4\. Resurface**

"Nevermind! Really, never-fucking-mind any of that! Fuck Super-Mutants, and their hunting rifles." Sara gasped, crawling out of the tainted water and onto dry concrete. "Dicks!" She wheeled around to scream across the small river. A volley of rifle rounds shot in her direction and lost momentum, falling into the water short of her in response.

Her leather armor poured water from its nooks and crannies, and the audible sound of her draining onto the ground only further illustrated how thoroughly soaked she was in the irradiated water. She glanced at her Pip-Boy and at the really sad-looking figure looking back at her in the same tainted-green color she was feeling.

Sara looked away only long enough to grasp onto Dogmeat's tail, hauling him onto the concrete beach as he barked and thrashed, trying to break free and dive back into the Super-Mutant fray. "Give it a break, you over-achieving mutt. Mommy loves you no matter what your kill streak is." She fell to her knees, dragging in a breath, glancing at her animal companion. "Don't tell Charon about this."

**5\. Winter**

"Is that… snow?" Charon asked, looking up at the tint of white flakes descending around them.

Sara stepped out of the abandoned building beside him, shuffling their newly-found loot into her pack. "What? No way; the nukes messed up the weather patterns."

It was moments like these he realized how well-educated children of the Vault were. Back when snow fell normally and nukes were a crazed conspiracy theory, the rumor had been Vaults were these unnatural cage for test subjects. Vault 111 had proven that, no doubt, but the random Old World knowledge Sara spouted out reminded him there were benefits to be found also.

If only his family had been the chosen ones. They'd have been saved from all this chaos.

Then Charon wandered to the side, glimpsing around the old shack which had obscured their view. "Spoke too soon." He said, and Sara gave him a look. He took in the sight of fire reaching to the skies and that familiar green haze drifting towards them. Tenpenny had found someone else. "It's Megaton."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in an abusive relationship with this game because it won't let me leave. I always come crawling back.
> 
> So I owed saraisahugenerd some SERIOUS FANFIC after missing her birthday and being a bad message-replying friend. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the utterly creep-girlfriend style geek I've become after the announcement of Fallout 4. Just like it had nothing to do with me buying Fallout 3. Again. And postponing work to play it. Again.
> 
> Nothing.
> 
> So rather than embarking on a 200,000 word series, I decided to cheat/explore-writing-techniques by trying this "100 prompts" idea. 101 for nostalgic reasons. More chapters will come. Enjoy, and please R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

**1\. Cruelty**

Sara picked up the glowing bottle of soda sitting neglected on the metal ammo box, looking it over. Three raiders with all styles of armor and hair lay bleeding out around her, their guns scavenged and safely deposited in her bag; their bodies free of other little items she found useful.

It was the first Nuka Cola Quantum she'd seen in a while. "You know, I could save this for Charon and Dogmeat," She spoke out loud to the empty company around her. "Or… I could give the asshats what they deserve for refusing to go on a – quote - "stupid job for that head case Moira and her book," and drink it all myself." She regarded the glowing purple contents. "I mean, sure, it took six Stimpaks for Charon to walk again after that Minefield. And yeah, whatever, I kind of pushed Charon off the ledge so Moira could patch him back up – but he survived the nukes three hundred years ago. So he was way more up for that shit than I was! And how was I supposed to know his awesome ghoul powers didn't make him, like, more resistant to pain. It's a super easy mistake." She pursed her lips, nodding, "This is for science. It'd be totally cruel to refuse for the sake of the  _whole_  wasteland." She shrugged, "They just don't appreciate the bigger picture. So, yep, they totally don't deserve this wicked sweet perk." She tipped back the glowing drink and felt her senses come alive.

**2\. Uncle**

Dogmeat's tag waved playfully as he dropped the severed hand at Charon's feet. He looked down at the withered, paled piece of flesh, oozing the last remnants of blood into the dirt.

"Well…" Sara began, looking at it. "I guess it's the thought that counts."

Charon grimaced at it - a hardly noticeable expression on his mangled face. The silence stretched out for one beat, two beats, and then without looking, he asked, "Do you have your Rock-it-Launcher?"

"Yeah, totally." Sara answered.

"Can I see it?" He asked, eyes fixed on the severed hand nearly touching his scuffed boot.

"Uh, sure?" Sara said with a raised brow, fishing it out of the pack hanging across her shoulder blades.

Once it was in his grasp, Charon crouched down, taking the ruined flesh in his hands and loading it into the launcher though it left traces of blood on his palms. He hoisted it onto his shoulder easily and angled it upwards, pulling the trigger. With a loud  _thoop,_ the body part flew through the air, growing small the farther it sailed.

Dogmeat wagged his tail, looking after the hand and then back at Charon.

With a twisted smile on his face, Charon looked down at the animal. "Fetch."

The dog took off like a shot, sprinting into the distance.

Sara watched him go. "You're like that weird uncle who pranks all the kids without any good reason."

"Serves him right for ripping apart corpses instead of staying nearby." He replied, handing the launcher back.

**3\. Happiest**

"Say it." Sara gave him a pointed look, an expression she termed "swagger" purposefully locked on her face.

Charon looked back her with an expression mixed between bored and irritated. "Nowhere in my contract did it say anything about roleplaying radio dramas."

"Of course not; it was implied you'd have a sense of fun built in somewhere. I mean, where would we stop? Should we pencil in "clean the guns" and "eat" too?"

"This is hardly that important."

"It makes me happy. Just do it!"

He sighed heavily, his voice free of the accent she'd insisted on earlier. "'So little fate, boss. I could disarm this slaver junk with my eyes closed. One second.'" With great effort, he made clicking sounds with his mouth to imply locks being picked.

There was a long pause, and then Sara raised her brows at him.

He rolled his eyes, "'There. Now for yours. Stand still.'" More clicking sounds followed.

Sara's face bloomed, a slight twang coming to her voice, "'Argyle, you magnificent bastard, you did it!'" She threw her hands up in the air, jumping to her feet. There was another drawn out silence. "Charon, it's your line."

"I don't think so."

"Come on! If we don't finish this one, we can't move on to the one where Argyle questions his sexuality."

Charon's head darted to the side, "That wasn't an episode."

"Duh, they quit making them. But it was going to happen. It's our duty to carry on the legacy." She raised her hands, palms up, as if it were obvious. "But if you're that bored, we can just skip to that one." She turned away, darting up the stairs, "Where's that lacy teddy again?"

**4\. Bunting**

Sara remembered a lot of Old World creatures from her school books. Her hours of sitting in those Vault schoolrooms, absorbing the information which seemed so important at the time - so useful. Knowing what a bunting was, and how many colors they came in, and where they were indigenous to had little reference now.

Shit, they didn't even have buntings now. Not in post apocalyptia. Well, maybe they did, but they were probably the size of an Old World car and would spit acid. Awesome but not a lot of fun.

"Hey, Charon? You know what a bunting is?" Sara asked.

They had been wandering these subway tunnels for long silent moments, and nothing on her Pipboy showed danger, so she spoke up.

"The bird?" He responded.

"Yes!" Sara burst out, voice rising sharply. It made sense all of a sudden, that he'd know. Sometimes it was easy to forget he'd have been when they were around. "Have you ever seen one?"

He paused for a moment, thoughtful. "A long time ago, yeah."

He would always refer to time vaguely, rather than in centuries or decades. At first she thought he might be insecure about his age, and she poked at this to get him to lighten up. Then she realized that maybe he'd stopped gauging time altogether.

"What were they like?" She asked, suddenly curious. She was bored out of her mind wandering these tunnels without anything to do but walk.

"Colorful. Loud. Just birds, I suppose." Charon offered, checking the corner for enemies.

It would be a long walk to GNR, so Sara tried to conjure up more Old World things to talk about.

**5\. Stalked**

"Ah-ha! Got you, motherfucker!" Sara wheeled around, Assault Rifle in hand and leveled it right at the darkly clothed form.

The air that had been inhabited by the shadow was suddenly clear. Charon actioned back the bolt of his Hunting Rifle and a shell pinged into the air, falling uselessly to the ground as he slammed the bolt forward. He completed the action without looking; his eyes darting to see what Sara was aiming at and only finding blank space.

Charon scanned back and forth, the rifle stock pressed tightly to the pocket of his shoulder, ready to fire off at whatever she was seeing.

"The fuck?" Sara blurted, face twisting, "Not again!"

"What?" Charon asked, eyes darting to the nearest pieces of rubble that could serve as cover for this mysterious enemy. "What is it?"

"The dude!" She said, her voice a blend between a whine and a snarl, "The dude with the hat and a trench coat."

"Who?" Charon gave her a look.

"The guy who pops up randomly and shoots all my enemies! He was right here!" Sara insisted, rifle lowering but her head darting back and forth.

Charon watched her for a long moment. "Do you want to sit down for a minute?"

They'd been at this all day.

"I want to find the stylishly dressed stalker!" She insisted.

He kept his eyes on her warily, "You should really sit down." He glanced at her pack. They'd waded through a number of pools and by enough flaming cars, and while he wouldn't have felt a thing, he couldn't remember the last time she'd checked her Geiger counter. "Do we have any Radaway?"

"I could be assaulted at any moment and all you can think about is radiation?" She turned on him, "I know we're in an irradiated wasteland, but really, Charon, shame on you. Have some consideration. I'm being stalked by a strange man in a fedora!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have realized these are less drabbles and more small oneshots. I just can't help it; I get carried away with the narrative and the need to make them at least somewhat funny and/or heartbreaking. Those are actually my two conditions. If they don't make you chuckle or cringe at the end, then I have wasted your time. Is there an alternative? Let me know because I don't know.
> 
> So yeah, part two. More will come. I felt bad about the ending of the last one, so I made this one purely fun times and stupidity. Hope you like it! Please review. :D


	3. Chapter 3

**1\. Immortality**

"I'm actually sort of curious. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but what's it like… you know, never getting to die?" Sara lifted her eyes from her Hunting Rifle for the first time in forty minutes; the thought had been on her mind for the entirety of that. The brainwave was first sparked as she rubbed gun grease in the bolt for the millionth time since she left the Vault, and she wondered if she might break a billion times before she died. She was about 75% sure Charon had hit the billion mark by this point.

"I'm perfectly capable of dying," Charon returned, releasing the clip of his pistol before shoving it back in, keeping a careful eye out for the ease of this movement. While repeating the process to make sure it was smooth, he responded, "I just don't age."

"But that's what I mean," Sara said, leaving her hands idle in favor of this new topic. "You've been alive for like, a long fucking time. What's that like?"

Charon conceded to releasing the clip and placing it on the table beside him, seizing the grease-covered rag to wipe down the weapon. "Well, after Moira stopped selling you new weapon schematics that you test in doors, it's been relatively boring." He dropped the rag, testing the clip again. "Fortunately."

**2\. College**

The Brotherhood of Steel soldier knocked her to the ground for the ninetieth time. This time Sara stayed down, dragging in a deep breath from her fatigued lungs. This combat college of sorts was good, and she was learning - but fuck, she was so out of shape. Maybe she should jog or something.

The image of Old World headbands and leg warmers came to mind and she smirked, "Fucking awesome."

Sara angled her head backwards, dirt grinding into her curly hair, and looked up at Dogmeat looming over her. Though he hadn't done much besides watch intently – since she couldn't trust him to not steal gloves and Nuka Colas from the nearby barracks if she let him wander – he panted, tail wagging. Sara gave him a thorough glare as the Brotherhood soldier wandered off for water, "You would sic him, you know."

Dogmeat cocked his head.

"The FatMan is like five feet away from you," She insisted, waving a tired hand at her discarded equipment at the edge of the sparring space. "I'd do it for you." He watched her silently, and she sighed, "Fine, whatever. Dick."

**3\. Sauna**

It was her conscience really.

Her dad was a doctor. She'd known the same one hundred and forty-two people for her entire life. She'd even denied Amata's pistol when she was escaping the Vault.

So it made sense for her to do some stupid shit in the name of kindess.

When blood splattered across her face, the fallen body of a Brotherhood of Steel soldier crumpling only a few feet away from her where the concrete-and-fire-hydrant club had left it, Sara was already running. She'd noticed the massive launcher as the group of Brotherhood and her had pushed through the hollowed-out office building, and she'd caught sight of it again when the Behemoth burst through the rubble in a hail of fire and debris.

Charon was firing off a rapport of Assault Rifle rounds, but she cut through the carnage, lifting the launcher from the dead body long enough to hoist it onto her shoulder – fuck it was heavy. The pull of a trigger and a fuckload of recoil later, heat blazing like a sauna blinded her.

She lived.

But not many others did.

With the FatMan on her shoulder still, feeling shaky on her legs, Charon helped her up. She wasn't sure exactly what his expression meant; maybe he was angry because a round had clipped his left bicep, or maybe he was angry that she hadn't moved fast enough to save that last Brotherhood soldier who lay dead on the ground. There was still a ringing in her ears, still a dazzled feeling in her, but Sara knew she felt guilty for that.

Or maybe he was angry because of the blood seeping down her cheek from the debris, and the radiation sunburn blazed across her skin.

Couldn't be sure.

**4\. Carnivore**

Sara didn't know Charon could move so fast.

Her mind had clicked over into a slower, more focused mode from the second they approached the Deathclaw Sanctuary. It acted as though it was on Jet the way it assessed every aspect of each creature, picking out what location was the best to fire at. But even with this concentration, she hadn't noticed the large Deathclaw appearing behind her, or how her Assault Rifle had ran out of ammo, and especially not how Charon had stepped in front of its sharp-talon swing.

Some days Sara was happy that Charon was around; despite his emotional constipation, he was fun sometimes.

And then other times, he had this really shitty habit of stepping in front of danger for her. Unnecessarily. Lethally unnecessary.

A variety of curse words flooding into her mind and out her mouth as she wheeled around to the Deathclaw – the creature who was both monster and natural carnivore. It kneeled in front of Charon, razor-like teeth brandished and ready to tear at mutilated flesh. Sara dropped her Rifle to the ground and pulled the Alien Rifle from her pack, careless if she wasted the ammo in one sitting. A squeeze of the trigger and four blinding blasts later, Sara wondered if the prize inside a Bobblehead was worth this.

**5\. Clutch**

The grip on her shoulder was tight, painful, and unexpected.

"Not here," Charon's gravelly voice cautioned her, eyes set on the hand around Mr. Burke's throat. Everyone else's eyes, surrounding them, were set on the man in a pinstriped suit and a fedora, currently being choked out by a shorter leather-armored woman.

Sara hadn't really thought this out, to be honest. One second Mr. Burke was saying, " _Thank you for not telling anyone about my proposal. It made it possible for me to handle the… Megaton situation_ ," and the next second she was realizing how hard she could clutch a man's throat.

She wanted to find her dad. She didn't think Burke would do it; it was a bar for fuck's sake, she thought he was drunk. She didn't know the Sheriff that well; she didn't want to cause trouble.

She had felt the ashes of her home rain down on her, and now the man responsible was offering her a suite.

Charon's grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, "You're going to attract security. Not here."

Sara had never killed someone in anger; not someone who hadn't shot at her or generally threatened her life. When she released her hold on Mr. Burke's throat, she knew she'd end his life before the sun set; not here, but somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't know why, but I've become somewhat obsessed with this inquisitive side of Sara. Like it just suddenly hit me that Charon is an old-as-shit ghoul from before the bombs and that is the neatest thing. Sara is an extrovert, so I imagine she'd be up for a lot of conversation; and what better than a relic of the old world mixed with a sheltered vault nerd? That's what I'm talkin' 'bout.
> 
> Also the reaction to the Megaton prompt of chapter one was so delicious I had to ride the wave. (I'm particularly proud of Clutch. :D) Please make all death threats grammatically correct; thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

**1\. Wednesday**

Days of the week didn't matter much in the Wastes, but the Pipboy still kept track and, somehow, strangely, Sara comprehended the rhythm of a week.

"Ugh, I can't wait until Friday." She muttered as she lifted the cheap pistol from the Raider's holster.

Dogmeat made a small sound that was likely out of revulsion at the Raider's brains currently cast across the ground, but Sara decided it was a question.

"Fridays. The day before days off, you know?" She waved her hand, "You wouldn't get it; you stupid workaholic. You're happy to drop a hand at my doorstep Friday or Sunday or Wednesday; it's gross, actually. I get you're just trying to prove your worth on this team, but, honestly, mommy loves you unconditionally. Mutilating strangers isn't going to change that, boy."

Dogmeat cocked his head to the side.

Sara raised her brow. "Yeah, you're right; it does matter a little bit. Charon doesn't get me anything that nice. But that's because he's old school; work that involves delivering hands isn't his style." She paused for a minute, deciding if she should take the chance. Well - of course she should. "You could say it's a "hand job." OHH!"

Dogmeat didn't respond, but then again, what did she expect.

**2\. Cavity**

"That's it – where is it?" Sara asked, throwing her hands up in the air.

"What?" Charon regarded her from his decrepit lawn chair that served as living room furniture. From his time, they wouldn't have even considered it suitable for the yard; but then again, there wasn't much of anything he could compare to his time now.

"The Rock-It-Launcher." Sara insisted, her voice strained, "I know you did something with it. There's no way Dogmeat could have packed  _that_ off; don't think I didn't suspect him. His pile of human hands is just hands, dude; so guess what."

He held her eye contact for a long time, but then returned his attention to the blade he was currently sharpening.

"That means it was you." She provided when he didn't answer. "Look, man, I get it – but it was an accident! I didn't mean to. Cut me a break."

The long, rhythmic strokes of metal against stone filled the silence.

"Just give it back! I already said I was sorry. I even bought you a Nuka Cola!"

"You got that from Mr. Gusty." Charon responded without looking up.

"Which cost someone money sometime! Gusty doesn't stock himself. Just because it's free to me doesn't mean it doesn't have value." She protested.

The thick, high-pitched sounds of his blade served as his response.

"Okay, that's it. Give it up or I'm going to go where no man has gone before." She pursed her lips.

Charon lifted his eyes to her. "What?"

"Cavity search, bitch. I don't just make gay jokes on a whim – I'm serious." She set her hands on her hips.

**3\. Engaged**

It was 120 caps.

A couple of drinks.

Sara thought she was renting a bed.

Apparently she was renting Nova too.

"Oh God, please explain in intimate detail exactly what happened and why exactly you're in my bed?" Sara pulled the blanket up to her mouth, pressing it firmly as if enough force could blot her from the world.

Nova took another drag of her cigarette, adjusting the blankets covering her hips from where she laid beside Sara. "Calm down, hon', it's not like we're engaged now or anything. Just a bit of fun. If you could call it fun, to be honest."

Sara shut her eyes tight enough to burn at those words. The morning sun was burning her hungover eyes, but she was sure this caving feeling of embarrassment was the worst part. "Fun wasn't, by any chance, playing jacks or poker or something?"

Nova laughed - a thick, mirthful sound. "I have no idea what you're talking about, hon', but if you're asking if we did the dirty, then no." She took another long drag, regarding Sara out of the corner of her eye, "I don't normally do the tango with someone who threw up on my favorite shirt."

Vomit or lesbian sex.

On a scale, which was worse…? Sara never thought she'd ask that question.

"So then, we didn't..?"

"Nope. I petted your hair a bit and laughed at your jokes; not normally what I do for 120 caps, but it was kind of fun anyways."

"Oh." Sara managed, not removing the sheets from her face, "Okay."

**4\. Saint**

"AntAgonizer. Aw, man, that's awesome." Sara's smirk was as wide as her face, and she shook her head to contain the laughter, "It's  _ant_  of control, you could say."

The road to the Mechanist's "lair" was a rocky and broken path. The entire display they had sat back to watch was entertaining enough, but it took a solid ten minutes to get this far, and Sara was testing the patience of a saint.

"This whole battle just  _ant_  right!" She snickered, " _Ant_  I right?" She gave him a look; it was mildly humorous the first three times. Now it was drawing close to torture. "For the town, having to endure this must be  _ant_ ony."

Listening to this was agony.

**5\. Sinner**

It wasn't her fault.

Really, it wasn't.

God, she  _hoped_  it wasn't.

She didn't turn Burke in, but she didn't help him either; that counted, right? She was new in town; she didn't want to cause any trouble. She didn't know who was who or what was what, or anything besides the fact that she wanted her dad back. Sure, he was creepy as fuck, and she told him so, but how would she know he would turn her world upside down?

_How did she know?_

"I didn't mean for this." Sara whispered behind the concrete barrier currently serving as cover. "I really fucking didn't know."

Charon was at her side, head ducked beneath the cover with his shoulder pressed tight against it. He clutched his Hunting Rifle tightly; finger poised just above the trigger. The reason behind this was revealed when he peeked above the concrete barrier and fired off three rounds. The forever bodyguard - it didn't matter what she had done to earn this. She was his contract – maybe even his friend – and these people wanted her dead.

The Regulators didn't think this was an accident. Sinner, they called her. Marauder, they called her. They didn't care if she shook and fell to her knees as she saw the dust of Megaton rise to the sky. She pursed her lips, "I didn't mean for this." But it didn't matter to them, and it didn't matter to Charon.

Sara wondered if it mattered to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More fun in the post apocalyptic sun. Thank you guys so much for your comments and support! It honestly means so much; when I don't feel like writing, I remember your kind words and sit down at my keyboard.
> 
> So onto my silly rant: This one was actually pretty fun because it had a balance of new stuff and references to earlier chapters. I see I'm doing that a lot. I like a touch of continuity - makes things nice and heartbreaking! If you guys have any suggestions for future stories, let me know; I'm happy to fit plot ideas into a prompt. :D Anyhoo, enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

**1\. Vacation**

Point Lookout made a liar out of her.

Sara staggered and gripped at the rock face for support; the swamp water sloshing around her legs did nothing for balance. And for that matter, whatever was filling her veins, making the world spin, was a fat load of help too. "Raiders. Fucking ninjas if they can shoot while they're this fucked up."

Charon somehow held up against the dizzying substance as he pushed on behind her. Perhaps his immunity to radiation came into effect or maybe his old man powers resisted fun in general. Or, at least, it would have been fun, had it not been for the putrid swamp water and bullets and all that shit.

Her next step betrayed her and she tripped. Her hand shot out for the phantom Bobblehead, seeking balance, but her fingers met open air and her body met water. She was submerged in an instant, tasting the revolting water and her lungs closing off against it. Her general lack of connection with the world made finding her feet impossible in the murky depths. Panic ate away at her oxygen supply though she held her breath, and her hands grasped blindly in the water, finding no purchase. A strong hand gripped at her shoulder, hauling her up. She gasped and struggled, grabbing at whatever was near and stable to keep from going under again; yet Charon's firm hold on her shoulder, clutching at her armor, ensured she'd stay above no matter what she tried.

Charon's fun-resisting powers were probably a good thing, because this wasn't fun, and she had zero power.

She wasn't sure if Charon staggered from her sudden grasping at his arm or because the drugs were getting to him, but when she tried to catch her footing, she forced his to falter. Water splashed as they stumbled, the pair of them nearly going under together though his hold made sure she wouldn't go alone.

He growled when they steadied. The world spun before Sara's vision.

"I owe you twenty caps, Charon; Lookout Point is the worse vacation spot ever."

**2\. Outcome**

"I don't know what you expected," Charon had said, his voice edged with fatigue from the long walk. Agatha's House faded in the distance beyond them, but her smooth melody carried across Sara's Pipboy.

"It's the point that counts, Charon." Sara said, giving him a look; tired as she was, she wasn't ready to admit defeat. Instead she kept the music playing defiantly – her only reward. "There's more to life than caps. Money can't buy you happy old ladies who'd be helpless without me."

Charon hummed, disbelieving, "Old ladies do not exactly ensure our supplies are well stocked." She should have expected that line to show up, especially when her Stimpaks ran out mid-firefight the few hours before.

He took on that sophisticated edge that told Sara she was in for a ride. Not that the edges of her mind didn't bristle with the same irritation; she just didn't want to hear about it. "Food smood – we have beautiful music now! Listen, Charon; soak up the finer things. Isn't this better than a Medkit?"

He didn't need to reply for her to hear his eye-roll of a response. She was already ten caps in debt to Moira to afford the ammo this venture required.

Finally he spoke, "This is the outcome of your Savior complex."

"Yeah, whatever," she dismissed. With an ache in her joints and the knowledge that it'd take another task to replenish her Stimpaks - beyond the one that had just taken a week - she didn't feel like admitting he was right.

**3\. Replacement**

She'd had friends in the Vault. She'd had a life in the Vault. Now she had… Sara breathed in green-tinted air. Now she had Wasteland.

The Overseer was dead, and so was her life from before. Her comfortable room with posters, soccer balls, and a desk with her name etched across it, marking her age and the procession of her handwriting. She'd worked so hard to make her personal script legible; a fat load it mattered now.

The BB gun she'd only shot a handful of times mattered now, and the Home Ec class that taught her how to cook, though it was Geckos now; how to sew, though it was armor now; and how to read the map of her Pipboy, though it was uncharted territory now, were the only things that mattered.

Dogmeat mattered, more devoted than any of her friends before. Charon, who had lived a more interesting life than Amata and her string of boyfriends, mattered. And if her luck, her ammo, and her determination held out, she'd have her dad again soon, and that mattered.

It was a replacement for her life whether she liked it or not, but the more she lived it, the more it mattered too.

**4\. Smallest**

It was official. Nova could drink her under the table.

Sara'd forgotten the rules of the game and which singed cards would make her win, yet she still arranged them like it mattered, forgetting for a moment if five was higher than nine.

To distract from her indecision, Sara asked, "Come on, man, it's Truth; fess up."

Five was lower than nine, but was it lower than four? She couldn't remember, but she did know that the loser of the last round would tell a fact or take up a challenge. Neither of the women trusted their feet or their balance if they stood after the sixth hand, so they'd given up on Dare.

"Moriarty has the smallest dick I've ever seen." Nova answered, watching Sara with a purposefully blank face.

Sara giggled and snorted in one. "Doesn't count! I've never seen ol' Mori's dick, but it was an easy guess! Tell me something else."

Nova rolled her eyes, "You have the smallest dick I've ever seen."

Sara put her cards down on the table, realizing they were face-up only after, and tried to glare on the many shifting forms of Nova, "That's just rude."

**5\. Revealed**

When Charon peeled off his shirt, it revealed mangled skin – melted from radiation, melted from centuries, melted from too many bullets that had cut too close.

When Sara had first glimpsed it, she had been hesitant; alarmed by his flesh in its deformed state, Charon thought,  _no doubt._

What he didn't know was the strange blend of fascination, sympathy, and shock that flashed through her mind. He had seen far more than her, and it showed on his skin.

When Sara peeled off the leather armor concealing her legs, it revealed pale and untouched flesh, now marred by a long bloody wound stretching across her thigh from a Deathclaw's talon.

Charon had kept his eyes averted; "Try to contain your lust," she said with a laugh, trying to draw her attention from the pain that arched up her leg. A thin needle with thick thread had closed the wound under Charon's practiced hand, all the while her mind wandered to how inexperienced she must have seemed to him. Still the Kid from 101 who'd fucked up and didn't dodge fast enough.

What she didn't know was that Charon stitched it up quicker than normal, sure to leave a scar, so she wouldn't be in pain for long. She didn't know the thought that had flitted through his mind:  _Welcome to the Wasteland._


	6. Chapter 6

**1\. Mistake**

Sara hit the ground like a metaphorical sack of dirt.

Though, not so metaphorical, considering the amount of it she ate on impact.

 _Oh I fucked up. Oh I really fucked up,_  Sara bemoaned mentally, since her lungs were too busy trying to drag in air to bitch about the situation.

The jump had made a lot of sense when she made those first two hard strides, building up speed. It still made sense when she launched from the broken concrete's edge, aiming for the other end of the crumbling overpass. It stopped making sense when the weight of Nuka Colas, broken guns, and a few scraps of scavenged armor in her pack made her a little less light and a lot more like a fat man.

Her hand was burning, thanks to uselessly grabbing at the edge to save herself, but she still braced it on the ground and dragged herself to her feet.

**2\. Westbound**

"We should go West." Sara said. They'd been walking across an abandoned road, out of GNR's range, but while the sound of its music rarely kept Sara from talking, the lack of it encouraged her tenfold.

Charon already knew what she was talking about. A passing caravan brought stories of New Vegas with its intact buildings, functioning society – well, semi – and water that wasn't horribly irradiated.

She continued, whether or not he would have responded, "I mean, wouldn't it be great to live somewhere that didn't look like the lungs of a forty-year smoker?"

It certainly sounded glamorous; but as Charon knew, the things that sounded nice had the least chance of being nice. "There's also the marauding group of murderers and rapists who model themselves after the Roman Empire."

She opened her mouth like she was going to counter that, then closed it again. "Yeah. That's a bitch."

**3\. Abusive**

It'd been amusing the first time; just amusing in general.

It'd been funny the second time; the way Sara's eyes flashed a lighter shade of green and her face lit up made him smirk and roll his eyes at how entertained she was by it.

By the third time, it was starting to get annoying and he let her know it; but eventually found himself reciting the lines in exact sync with Argyle as she handled both Dashworth's and the sound effects. Though Charon refused to wear the hat.

By the fourth time, her insistence on them roleplaying the Adventures of Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood and his ghoul Manservant Argyle when it came on the radio was getting borderline abusive; both to his contract and his dignity.

**4\. Melodramatic**

"I think it's fair to suggest you're being a little melodramatic." Charon tipped his head condescendingly. Losing four Nuka Cola Quantums in the firefight thanks to a well-thrown grenade was indeed a poor turn of events, but she'd been railing at the dead body of the offending raider for minutes.

"Bull _shit,_ " Sara dragged out the word, lips still pursed, "Captain Dickface here was super fucking nice enough to earn us another week of running around DC trying to find these silly glowy things, so he deserves it. I've barely slept!"

 _I know_. Her willingness to run around the Wasteland without rest made sure Charon did the same, but even if that didn't tip him off, the fit she was throwing would have.

Sara hadn't slowed down with these quests, even the petty ones like gathering banned sodas. Not after what happened at Project Purity; not after what happened with her dad.

Charon had done his fair share of running to know what it looked like.

He reminded himself that he  _did_  have an eternity of time to waste, so he leaned against the wall, waiting for her to exhaust herself.

**5\. Paranoia**

Before the bombs, people were paranoid to think nuclear war would fall on them. After the bombs, the only ones left were those smart enough to be paranoid.

Before his skin melted on his skull, Charon was paranoid to think someone would want to kill him. After hair and flesh and even muscle peeled off him like death, it was paranoia that kept him from letting them.

Before his contract, Charon was paranoid to think he'd wake up every day with the chance of ending someone's life. After the paper passed from hand to hand, gaining blood stains and tears on its edges, paranoia is what made him wake up ready for it.

Sara set up a line of mines leading down the hall, a shotgun trap she'd learned from schematics inside the door, and instructed Dogmeat to lay beside them as they turned the office floor into their camp. It'd take an hour to dismantle it all and she might blow off her own arm in the process – just on the off chance a raider would walk in while they slept.

Charon smiled. Good, she was paranoid.

* * *

**A/N: I will tease shipping with these characters until I die. But only the most subtle and cliche because otherwise the whole pairing will lose that lovin' feeling.**

**Ah, I've missed doing these. I published a novel in the meantime though, so I'm counting my time as well spent! This batch makes a total of 30 prompts finished, making it another 70 to go, so hang onto your asses, baby, we're in this for the long run. That said, while I have lots more word prompts to go through, I'm feeling low on actual situations to put the characters in. So if you have any plot bunnies/something-that-would-make-these-characters'-lives-more-sucky-or-hilarious, then feel free to drop me a line and I'll probably do it.**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Chapter 7

**1\. Surprise**

Charon should have seen it coming.

When Sara mentioned how much she loved a birthday in the Vault, he thought she was being nostalgic and accordingly let her ramble on; from what he gathered, on the off occasion, she needed that like she needed to re-oil already-oiled weapons.

When she asked him the last time he'd had a birthday party, he humored her with a response, albeit a short one, because this was her therapy, not his.

"I don't remember."

It didn't seem to satisfy her, because he saw something that looked almost like pain mar her features.

He really should have seen it coming.

In his defense, her question about Zodiac signs wasn't too far out of Sara's range of questions to raise any suspicions, so he chalked it up the same as, "Were there phoenixes back then?" Besides, it took a few minutes to decipher what she meant by "star shit," so missing the hint wasn't unreasonable.

He should have noticed her picking up party hats along with caps and ammo. Granted, she also had a collection of tattered Old World dresses and a borderline obsession with plastic figurines whose heads bobbled, so he wasn't really to blame, but blame he would place on himself nonetheless.

The next question was so obvious he'd kick himself in hindsight, but Galaxy News Radio piped back to life on her PipBoy and forced her into silence, so his mind was too busy giving thanks to draw the necessary conclusions. "So I'm a Gemini, right, and I'm born May 21st. What day were you born?"

His answer had been pulling the pin on the grenade.

A few weeks later, he walked into their Megaton home after a visit to Moira – who had a suspiciously sly look on her face as he offered over the supplies Sara had sent him off abruptly to trade – and found himself face to face with a room full of horror. What he assumed were condoms blown up with oxygen to resemble deflated balloons, stray pieces of colorful cloth from tattered clothes tied in the shape of bows in the corners of the room, a table full of at least three days' worth of food, and Sara standing in the middle of the room with a party hat on both her and the dog's head and a smile too wide to be anything but purely dangerous.

"Surprise!"

He'd never call Sara a master of stealth, but he could have hit himself in the face over how her complete excess of fishing had still blindsided him.

He supposed the party hat she deposited on his head, the mix of Sugar Bombs and Mutfruit that created what he thought was intended to be a "cake," and the off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday" was punishment enough.

**2\. Overindulge**

At first it had been necessity.

Charon ducked down farther against the concrete divider, hearing the bullets concuss against their cover, feeling the vibration shivering through the rock and into his shoulder, threatening to break through.

Sara gripped her arm with grit teeth, mumbling her curses because her breath was still catching up with her lungs. It was fractured, if not broken, he knew from the way she'd landed on it when that car had exploded into a hail of fire and radiation during their sprint.

He barely paid attention to her scrambling through her pack for a Stimpak as he gauged the rat-tat of gunfire, waiting for that opening before peeking over and letting two shots connect with the raider's chest, another with his head. He ducked down low as the retort of the friend whizzed his way, and he glanced over as Sara threw her head back to dry-swallow a handful of Mentats.

Bad idea, he thought, but she cut off his chance to speak with, "Let's get through this shit already." She readjusted her grip on the gun, injured arm still making her hand shake, but when she swung up and let off a crack of shots, her aim was better than it should have been.

The second time had just been easy.

Sara had underestimated just how long it took to gather five Nuka Cola Quantums _and_ test out the research needed for Moira's book before the shopkeeper got antsy, so it was left to Charon to feel the fatigue of a sprint and lack of sleep along with her. The overachiever she was.

The benefit of experience meant Charon knew how to take a step when his body urged him to lie down, how to focus his sights on weaving objects when he hadn't eaten in two days, and how to keep running when his limbs were less than compliant.

For Sara, all that experience was in three pills she threw back before they entered the Mirelark nest.

When she noticed his disapproving look, she handled it like she always handled it. She extended him the pack; "Need a pick-me-up, old man?" she smiled.

His default lack of expression helped the glare. "Those will cause more problems than they fix," he said, and she rolled her eyes.

"Thanks, mom," she scoffed and took off down the hill, and though he wouldn't credit it to her, her aim and reactions were improved.

The third time it was overindulgent.

They made it home in time for Sara to drop off the research, drop off her weapons at home, and take off in a light jog for Moriarty's Saloon for her "girl's night out" with Nova. When the time had passed well into the night, Charon rose from the couch again to make sure she hadn't fallen off the catwalks leading from the Saloon home.

Instead he found her at a table with Nova, energy still in her eyes though he knew for a fact that she hadn't slept in over 48 hours.

She came home, but her drug use meant she was up for half the night; the Jutebox as loud as she was as she shook the upstairs floor with her dancing.

He wasn't sure if it was the energy or the Mentats he was criticizing.

**3\. Parade**

He was going to kill her.

Charon had thought long and hard about the many ways to bring about the end of his previous contract, but to his credit, for all Sara put him through in the way of radio dramas and meaningless quests, he'd never considered bringing her harm.

Now the thought crossed his mind.

"This is not a proper way to use my contract," he said.

"Contract, smontract, this isn't in your contract only because no one else had the sheer brilliance to think of it!" Sara defended. "But all that changes today, Charon. I am making history, and you're going to witness it!"

"This is a blatant disregard for the meaning and purpose of it," he said, unforgiving.

"But you don't need it anymore, baby, I'm all you need! That's in paragraph four, section three."

She was right, and that didn't help dissuade his thoughts of gore.

When she doodled a picture of male genitalia on the edge of his contract during one of her bored, drunken moments, Charon had patience. When she left it out and Dogmeat had decided it was his new toy, Charon had decided it wasn't the worst thing the paper had faced.

When Sara added in "The first party, namely Charon, is responsible for lifting the second party, namely Sara, on his shoulders and parading around the town while singing 'God Save the Queen' on her birthday," and had created a copy to post on the Megaton request board in the center of town, Charon first blamed Nova.

Secondly, he felt that whisper of a thought saying he could end her.

**4\. Point**

Sara was going to kill him.

Having to hunt down stuff Dogmeat dragged around and hid in a corner was bad enough, but this was just getting ridiculous!

"Listen up, dick-muffin!" Sara made her way into the living room to stand over Charon, who was currently reclined on the couch with a set of assault rifle parts scattered around him. "What did you do with it?"

He glanced up at her, oiled rag still in hand, unaffected. He blinked. "The frequency with which you ask me that question ensures I don't know."

"That's because you keep hiding shit!" she barked back, voice raising a notch. "And I'm done with it. You're worse than the dog. At least the dog brings something back! There's no dead person arm in front of the refrigerator and that means you owe me, mister!"

When the blank stare he gave her continued, she broke the silence:

"I know you took the drawing you made off the fridge. That's not fair. You wouldn't share and that made it public domain. You get to see all my stuff."

"Not by choice," he said, ruined voice gravelly.

She moved on as if he hadn't spoken. "That's not the point. Give it back."

He kept the long stare, unspeaking.

"Don't make me take this outside," she challenged.

He raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued for a moment. "You're going to fight me…"

"Fist to cuffs. I'm just trying to make you embrace your inner artist and you keep being a baby about it, so you and me, man, you and me."

He wasn't sure what the joking-to-upset ratio was, but with Sara, it was difficult to really determine where the sarcasm left and anything else began. "You're going to fight me because the drawing you stole is gone," he said tonelessly.

"It's not stealing if you do it for nice reasons. Everyone knows that. How am I going to make you come out of your shell if you keep resisting me?"

"Giving up is a good option."

She glared at him, haughtiness coming to her voice. "You insult me."

**5\. Mainstream**

"While I'll admit that your aim has improved, I still suggest you aim your grenades somewhere other than cars sitting as time bombs of radiation," Charon said, leaning against the bar.

"Yeah, yeah, but think about it," Sara held up her hands to emphasize the point, and Charon wasn't even sure if she believed in what she was saying or just wanted to debate for the sake of it. "Twice the explosion. Half the effort." She waved them as if that explained everything. "It's perfect."

"We spend more caps on Rad-Away than we do ammo," Charon countered.

"Pssh," she rolled her eyes, swiveling her bar stool back around to face the counter, taking up her drink. "We're Moira's best customers, it's our obligation. We're helping the economy!"

"And causing more damage than is necessary to ourselves," Charon said, with 'and mostly to me,' as the unspoken addition.

"Battle scars are cool! It's practically mainstream around here," Sara said, waving him off.

Charon sighed, mumbling 'mainstream' under his breath as he moved to the door, leaving the lost cause to instead stand like unspeaking sentinel against its frame until she finished her drink. She wasn't in the mindset to reason with when she decided to be 'funny.'

Moriarty leaned over from where he had been listening two stools down, voice not particularly low as he said, "He sure has a lot of complaints, doesn't he?"

Sara shrugged. "He's full of those." She tipped back her glass. "It's how he shows love."

When she swiveled around in her chair and batted her eyelashes dramatically at Charon who looked back with crossed arms, his expressionless face was all the response necessary.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I blame an overabundance of writing projects for both the delay in this and whatever OOC vibes come off on the chapter. Because I am a basic bitch.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
